Horror cocked his skull at the cliff, right hand holding Axella as his left clung to his hole. He considered his options. If he'd heard of this celebration sooner he'd be more appreciative. He was hungry.

He glanced at the forest behind him. Hungry. He could take a break; have a snack. So many animals thrived in these woods. Papy would love it here, too. Papyrus preferred plantie foods to meat. Less pain. Brother always preferred less pain.
He couldn't do that.

The blood gushing from the wounds, the metallic taste reaching him, so strong the scent he could taste it. The hot, steaming raw flesh that pulsed and tensed beneath his teeth, satisfying his burning hunger as he bloodied his clothes, burying his skull in the animal's stomach-
enough of that.
Some part of him was wrong. He couldn't survive on plants. His Soul needed blood, needed flesh.

He always felt guilty. Seeing the eyes of his victims, the soft brown ones of a doe that wasn't fast enough, the red of a sickly monster that couldn't outrun his bloodlust, the blue or green eyes of a human that thought they could attack him because he was injured. How scared they were… or how accepting. He would join them in death whenever he could. He was a creature of death. His very face was death to them. So he chose it for himself. Wanted them to become him in dying. Like he was carrying all those lost Souls within his own, broken, ruined one.

He'd been standing there for five minutes. What was he doing again? Something. Staring at this cliff. Nice cliff. Looks fun to climb. Why was he here?
Blood-Oath! He was here for Blood-Oath.
… What was that again?

He gripped his hole painfully, trying to remember. That damn hole. Damn fish. Damn spears. Damn human. Damn everything. Damn Alagaësia. Why was he damning everything? He forgot. Damnit.

He could smell a pig nearby. He heard it snuffling in the undergrowth. Hungry. He turned to look at it, a wild boar at the edge of the clearing. It didn't notice him.
Hungry.
Something that eliminates all morality is true hunger. One taste and you're never the same. After the extended contact with it, when his mind was broken, Togira, cripple, he wasn't…
He just wasn't.

He wanted to think.
Once, he was the second smartest monster in the Underground, second to only his own father. Then he was the only genius. But he wasn't his father, no.
Never good enough to replace him.
He couldn't bear to be in the same halls his father walked before he was forgotten.
He left.
He tried to get his father back.
He wasn't enough.
He tried to protect his brother.
Frisk came and went.
He wasn't enough.

He tried to fix the Core his dad built, with only Undyne barking up his spine as he tried. Tried so hard. Everything he could. He wasn't his father. Not good enough.
Fuck everything, she tried to kill him.

But he wasn't enough for even that.
He couldn't even die as he should.

He couldn't remember.
He couldn't… think.
Why why why why why why why why.
He doesn't know.
He isn't enough.
He doesn't deserve to know.
He will never be enough.

Why was he standing here again? He was here for something. He was staring at this cliff. Nice cliff. Looks fun to climb. Why was he here?
Blood-Oath.
...
He felt like he'd been through this thought process before.

Horror blinked, turning to the boar. Maybe he'd remember if he killed it.
Who was he kidding, he probably wouldn't.
But food was food.
He spun Axella in a circle, the blade humming as though she hungered for blood as he did flesh.

…

(Severe gore warning)

The boar screamed, writhing as the leaves around it became splattered with blood. His aim was true when he threw the axe; she had torn straight through it's middle and pinned it to the tree on the other side.

He stepped into view of the wild pig, the crazed animal glimpsing him and thrashing wildly, squealing louder as it's belly tore open from the deep wound. A long wail escaped it as intestines flopped onto the dirt, spreading out amidst the wet blood. The air reeked of iron. He tasted it.

He crouched down just beyond the pooling insides, tilting his skull at it's tusks as he studied the kicking animal. Hooves scrabbled at the bark, eventually loosening the axe until it collapsed on the floor. The pig grunted, then shakily rose to it's feet and tried to run.

Horror just lazily picked up Axella and hooked her through one of the draping intestines, the pig yanking on it and tripping, falling flat on it's face as it shrieked in agony. It started seizing, unable to get back up due to loss of blood. He strode over, taking off his prized jacket to feed.

Dropping Axella, he landed on his kneecaps, breaths coming in huskily as he listened to the ragged gasps of the boar. Panting with rising excitement, Horror slavered as he hooked his gnarled phalanges into the guts and dragged them away, the pig just whimpering as it's high-pitched whines pierced the quiet woods.

Horror giggled humorlessly as he dug inside the animal, reaching for the one thing he wanted to claim before it died. He felt it's lungs press against his bones before it let out a shrill, wheezing groan. Then his claws grasped his prize; beating with life as he carefully extricated it from the protective ribcage. They couldn't guard this from him. His ritual. His obscene, profane ritual.

Gazing at the heart, a few tears pricked his sockets as it's rhythm slowed. He could feel the blood pulsing in the arteries and veins. Mine.
He shoved the heart of a still living animal in his mouth and swallowed, the connected tubes like slimy spaghetti that ran over his tongue. He sighed past the circulatory system in his mouth, feeling the heart slide down and slow.
Me. You're me. Die as me.
The pig wheezed softly as Horror connected to it's very mind on a profound, spiritual level; drank of it's energy as it's blood stopped flowing inside him.

He was bent over, hands muddied by dirt mixing with blood, kneecaps pressing into the warm flesh that steamed in the cool forest air as his mind- what was left of it- joined his prey and stole it's energy, feeling it take it's last gasps before it passed away. He felt as if he died along with it, his mind dwelling within the animal. But he recovered, biting down on the no longer living blood vessels and tearing away, turning to the soaking pile of wormy intestines and beginning his gorge.
(End gore)

He was an unforgivable creature.

So he made himself experience each death, making it easier by taking their strength so they didn't suffer as long. Like some kind of vampire, for he felt so alive when he took their power. It was sickening, yet addictive. His attempts to make passing over easier were like a drug to him. He was sure it actually kept him alive during times of starvation back home, when he would feed his brother first, unless it was a monster.

He hated eating dust. The dry powder he choked on, like the taste of ashes that stayed in his mouth for days, billowed out every time he coughed. The only highlight was the massive high of consuming a Soul. He truly felt like those monsters were part of him, living in his subconscious, seeing his love for his family, his adoration of Papyrus, the truth behind his disturbing rituals. Part of him hoped they were pleased to be fed so well now, as part of him they were.
Sometimes he wondered…

If his mind were still intact, would he know for sure? If his mind were intact, would he even have committed those atrocities in the first place? He probably wouldn't.
He was insane. Beyond insane. He accepted that.

Horror stared at the dead boar's face as he tore into it's liver. It stirred memories. Was he ever alone, given the Souls he'd eaten? Was it just his imagination that he felt they lived within him? He'd eaten their dust, eaten their minds, after he'd eaten their Souls and felt the greyed hearts crumble inside him. Like their bodies had crumbled to dust. That he ate.

He felt a slow, throbbing river of emotions locked in the recesses of his mutilated mind, only dimly aware of it. He always imagined it was them. It had been joined by the vast ocean of whispers since he fell into Alagaësia. He called that sea Wyrda. It felt right. Wyrda spoke sometimes. He never understood it, but he knew when it spoke through him, others understood.
He didn't ask what it told them, it wasn't his business.
He didn't deserve to know.
He isn't good enough to know.
How could he, with so much dust and blood on his hands? That was inside him?
Error was forced, Dust had no other choice, as did Killer. Nightmare was pushed over the edge, Red couldn't change what his world turned into.
But he made the choice.

Told his Snowdin to eat people.
Eat humans.
Then eat each other as the madness really set in.

He bit into intestine as he remembered one of his last monster victims.
The dog couldn't run fast enough. He was so hungry he was eating his own arm. The dog had gone down, then gave up, turning around to watch him with a disturbing calmness as he burrowed into their chest, taking the Soul.
How their dark brown eyes gazed into his when he held it to his teeth, devoid of emotion. It nearly broke him.

"I'm so hungry, Sans." They had said simply.
"I can't feel anything else anymore."

He had started crying, pushing the grey heart into his mouth as the other watched so blankly.
"Is your way quick? I've heard it is. That's why you eat our Souls first, isn't it. It's better that way."

He stared at the corpse in front of him absentmindedly as he remembered something he didn't want to.

"It's okay, Sans. One day we'll get out of here. You'll be leading us; I know it. We'll see the sun and the stars and eat all we want. We'll eat like civilized people again. I know it. Don't you know it, Sans? Won't you be happy for Papyrus?"

He felt hot, red tears streaming down his face like watered down blood. He tilted his skull up to gaze at the green sunlight filtering through the trees. "You were right, Dogamy. You were fuckin' right. The sun's shinin' in the trees." He choked on a sob. "And there's so much food." He smiled brokenly. "Aren't you happy, Dogamy? We get a second chance." He cried, realizing it. He could almost see them, standing like ghosts of the past in the warm light of day.

"No more darkness." He whispered. "No more starvation. Papy's gon' be so proud of me. Gonna show Queen Undick what a bitch she is. Tori's gon' be reinstated. Can ya believe it?"

He felt radiant joy from the tumultuous river inside him, and peace from the ocean around him.
"Just one mo' war." He hacked, grinning despite the blood dripping down his face.
The blood was drying on his shirt, clotting over his bones, browning.

He shoveled a kidney into his mouth, sobbing in sheer ecstasy.

…..

He felt feverish, dragging the sharp point of a brittle bone attack over the rock, carving out a figure much larger than himself. The boar's head lay in the grass nearby, a reminder of what he wanted to do. The face had triggered his godforsaken memory, what he'd originally come there for.

His bone attack snapped, brittle like the rest of him. He just mindlessly let it vanish while taking a fresh one in his withered hands, growling as he dug into the stone. He was going to make something to last; something so powerful and majestic he was inspired by it when the only one he ever saw was dead already.

Horror had always been good with his hands, he didn't need a mind to know how to use them…..
Though a mind was really helpful in building a machine to access the Void..
Useful in fixing the goddamn Core.
He's not good enough.

…..

Dust heard feral snarling up ahead, tilting his skull at the sound. There was a repetitive sound accompanying it, a chk, screee, chk, screeee.
He peered over Tel'naeír, seeing a pale figure at the bottom. A skeleton furiously stabbing at the cliff wall. He caught sight of a black spot on their skull. That was a hole. That was Horror.
What's he doin' down there?

Would you like me to check for you, Brother?
Sure, bro. You're the coolest spy. He grinned toothily, eyelights glinting happily. Papyrus beamed in response, floating down to see what the broken skeleton was doing.

Sans! I think he is carving!
Huh. He humphed aloud, curious. Then he walked off the ledge, dropping halfway down the cliffside before teleporting to the ground.
"Heyo. Whatcha doin', Horror?"

Togira Grathr paused, turning his lone, bloody eyelight to look at him with a strange innocence. "Cutting rock."
"Why?"
His eyelight flickered over the stone face as he peered up the cliff. "Blood-Oath."
Dust kicked a pebble with his shoe. "Do ya remember what that's supposed to be?"

Horror hesitated, blinking. "Uh.." He reached for his hole, his hand stopping midway. Recollection shone in his eyelight. "Elf thing. Bring something ya made. I thought.. I'd make somethin'." Dust glanced at the boulder Horror had been carving out. "You were always pretty good with your hands, dude." He glanced at the boar's head nearby, gathering flies. "You can make whatever?"
"Has ta be your best talent wit' your… per.. personality."

Dust leaned on the wall, hands in pockets. "Cool. But Horror, you okay? You're acting particularly.. broken right now." He questioned, legitimately concerned. Horror shrugged roughly. "Been thinkin'. Always bad for me. And uh, tryna not forget what I'm doin'."
He picked at his hole as Dust kicked off the cliff behind him. "How about I try something, then?"

Horror shrugged again, facing the wall. "Do whatevah. I'm workin' here." He went back to attacking the grey stone. Dust shrugged, stepping away and heading down the cliff face for a clear space. He had an idea, wanted to remember. He summoned a Blaster and closed his sockets, remembering the shape of the small town.

Grabbing a bone attack, Dust used his tools to get to work. Papyrus watched him eagerly, even materializing to help after a while.
Home…

….

He studied Killer from between the trees, tense as he watched the other converse with Cross and an elf. He couldn't trust them. None of them. Maybe Dream could be fooled, but he wasn't having it. The Souls grumbled at him, arguing that he was wrong, while the rest just quieted, excited at the prospect of spying.

He felt his tail fwip through the air, slicing foliage as a knife through butter.
Cross was suddenly turning around. He ducked behind the tree.
Did he see us? Frisk whispered. He shook his skull as Chara explained.
There's no way, he had barely turned his skull when we ducked.

"Y'know, you're a real shitty spy."

He jumped, several voices screaming in surprise as his tail automatically lashed out. An oversized butcher knife blocked the blade.
"I'll give you credit, you would have gotten away with it if it weren't for my advantage." Cross explained, face a mask of calm.
"What are you planning?" Seraphim demanded, not willing to give up without a fight. His wings spread out threateningly.

Cross raised a non-existent eyebrow at him.
"Are you going to attack me? We're supposed to be on the same side right now."
He pointed at the colorless skeleton. "You're a threat. You could be working with Galbatorix for all we know."

A sneer distorted his features. "I follow one king. And he will never work next to someone so young and raving as Galbatorix. He serves no one but himself. Go to hell if you think Boss will ever demean himself in such a way."

Killer appeared, red Soul hovering above his shirt as his strange ring eyelights flicked between the two figures. He didn't look much like Seraphim had ever expected. Cross glanced at him, and something softened in his gaze. Killer grinned, flipping a knife and catching it absentmindedly. "Yo Seraphim, is it true you took both Frisk and Chara's Soul? I never had the chance to ask. Hell, didn't care before but that's 'sides the point."

"What's it to you?" Chara demanded from the Blaster above his skull. The knife-wielding skeleton paused, peering up at the red eyelight. "Just wondering. Must be weird dealing with so many voices. At least they're real people, unlike the shits in the Anti-Void."
Cross hesitated, then put his knife away. "Just don't attack us, and don't spy on us. Me and Killer are fine with it, but the others sometimes react badly. Dust has killed people staring at him before. Horror…."
"He's himself." Killer finished.

"Speaking of the others, where are they? Only seen you guys today." Killer started conversationally. Cross seemed to draw a blank. He glanced at Seraphim. "Did you do something to them?"
"No, I thought you knew where they were." He muttered.
"We thought you were scheming!" Bravery explained loudly.

"We totally are." A male voice spoke, a ghostly wraith of a colorless figure appearing in front of Cross. They looked.. like Chara. He crossed his arms with a sly grin. "We're plotting to take over the world." Cross facepalmed, Killer looking unimpressed. "X, come on. Where are they?"

The ghost shrugged. "No idea. I could look for Powder, I guess. But I've been around you guys; I dunno where everyone else went."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that, buddy! They're all fine!" A female voice called. Cross narrowed his sockets at the sound of it, Killer looking downright bewildered.

A fire elemental rounded the bend, Reaper, Geno and Bird with her. "How ya doin', guys?"
"How the hell did you get here?" Cross demanded of her.
"You know her?" Seraphim couldn't help but ask.
"We do. She was in Farthen Dûr." Killer murmured.

She clapped her hands. "Oh, that's wonderful. It's nice to see you beginning to get along. And Killer, Vergandí." She leaned in close and cupped his face. He tried leaning back, very uncomfortable. Her tone was gentle. "I'm so happy to see you healing, my dear."
"Please get outta my personal space."
She stepped away. "No problem."

She grinned at Bird, who smiled back uncertainly. She then turned serious. "Can you please follow me? I wanted to take you boys somewhere. Show you something. Give some of you something."
"Is it weird weapons again?" Killer asked drily.
She snorted. "Oh no, you read my mind. But really; I think you'll appreciate it. You enjoying Bragh Knífr?" She asked him.

They fell in step after her, not sure what to do. Killer whipped out a beautiful dagger with red stones embedded within it. "Sure, I guess." He studied it curiously, then pulled out a prized blade. "Not as good as this one, though." He grinned.
"That's because the Dwarvish blade is more ceremonial; try to fight with it and it'll snap. Bragh Knífr is enchanted to never break."
Killer hesitated, then slowly put the knives away.

They stopped at a ledge. Tel'naeír. How did they get here so fast? They were half a mile away when they started walking! It took.. three minutes to get here?
She turned around and smiled.

"Why we here, ya big candle?" Reaper asked suspiciously, hugging Geno to his side. She faced him with an unimpressed look. "Ever since Nightmare first called me that, several people have been calling me Candle Queen. Or Candle. Still offensive if you know the inappropriate context one might add to that."
The God of Death smirked.
She pouted, then sighed. "Bless their innocent hearts."

She faced the lot of them. "Reaper, you know your scythe isn't designed to handle stress. Like war."
He gasped dramatically, pulling his weapon closer. "Did you just insult Bladey?"
Her blue eyes widened, then she doubled over. "Bladey?"
He straightened. "Of course. She has a name. You think Ink's the only one with a named weapon?"

She wiped a white-hot tear from her eye. "Far from it. Horror named his axe Axella, in case you didn't know. Just.. Bladey. Oh my God that's hilarious." She shook her head. "Onto more serious matters, I believe you wouldn't want to break her." He grinned, though it wasn't a friendly smile. "Course I don't. She's lasted centuries."
"What are you suggesting?" Geno quested tensely.

She chuckled. "I just can't imagine why the God of Death doesn't have a weapon of war."
"I can fight fine with magic, Firelady."
"Even so. You need a weapon that won't break from the stress. Like… this." She pulled her hand out from behind her, revealing a dark scythe that was definitely taller than her and shouldn't have been possible to hide behind her back. The blade was cold silver, the rest either charcoal grey or black. The head was made of a black stone, two ovals of shiny black obsidian gleaming on the sides, and a sharp, pointed dark grey stone opposite of the blade.
"This is Blunda. Shut one's eyes. You can feel the magic within it, can't you?"

Reaper nodded faintly, looking stunned at the gift while clinging to his love and preferred weapon.
"Think of Blunda as a match to Bladey. After all, Death walks all battlefields. There is no thing like dying in war. So why should the weapon match that of everyday life?"

"Damnit, you know how to talk, woman." He whispered in a strained voice, reaching for it. His normal scythe rested on his shoulder as he held the new one reverently: it's blade was longer and wider, a frightening aura hung around it, like a dreadful sense of foreboding.

"Well, good. Now that you have that, Bird." The winged Sans stiffened. She smiled at him.
"I'm aware that you love bows and arrows."
"How did you know that?" He breathed.
"I know everything, my dear."

She brought out a stunning wood bow, the wood gleaming with stones set into the grip. They were gorgeous, shades of brown and gold blending with vibrant blue. "This, is Vindrthin. Wind thorn. It can shoot farther than any other bow, rivalling that of crossbows. It is far more accurate. It will never break. The string is actually one I got from Error; it is unbreakable."

The fire elemental placed it, fully strung, in a wooden box full of russet foam. It was studded with more of the stones on it's sides, the clasp made of a greenish stone with yellow veins running through it, giving it a feathery appearance despite being carved in the shape of a teardrop. The top of the case had more of this, inlaid in the shape of a sparrow.

Bird took it when she offered, eyelights gone with pure shock. "It looks… amazing. It has one of Error's strings but it's amazing."
"It's the only weapon I made by myself. No one else was involved with it's creation; except Error because I asked him for the string. But all the others, either Horror or Rhunön helped create them. Which reminds me." She brought out a quiver studded with even more of the brown and blue gems, the greenish standing in high relief down the front in the shape of an elongated teardrop. It was unusually thick.
"Forty arrows are inside; just as difficult to break and designed like so, with speed and accuracy just as involved. The tips are made of feather pyrite, the green and yellow webbed stone you see here. The others, including that on the bow, are variations of pietersite. The wood itself comes from a very powerful tree, it doesn't grow anywhere in Alagaësia or the Multiverse."

"What do you mean?" Seraphim suddenly asked. "Where can it come from if not either places?"
Her eyes gleamed mysteriously.
"You make the mistake of assuming I come from the Multiverse. I come from elsewhere, my dears. Perhaps… one day I'll tell you about it."

She was suddenly gone. A few spare embers floated away in the breeze, the only sign she existed in the first place.

"What… is she?" Reaper asked what they all were thinking.
"I don't know. But whatever Sinead is, she's watching us." Geno murmured.

Sinead.

They were gonna have to remember that name.

//Author's note//

Can I just say that this is not only a very important chapter, but also one of my favorites? Unfortunately, it's also the second to last one left until we hit where I broke off. I currently have writer's block after that point and it really sucks. All of what you're reading has been prewritten, it's only being posted until I'm out of chapters. Thank you for your patience, though. I love all of you guys and am eternally grateful for the love you've shown me through my work. I know it's unlikely many of you will read this, it is an Author's note, but I just wanted to say thank you. I hate these things, too. Why do you think I never have them? They seem to ruin the story sometimes. Although, I will be keeping this note here, even after I get inspired once again and continue writing. Because I still want this message here. I want you to see it, even if so few will actually read it. And as a treat for those who did, I'll give you a little hint.
Horror's actions and eating habits have made him more powerful than even he realizes. All it'll take is a little push from the elves to awaken it. To awaken him. He is something like the Multiverse's version of a Shade... Though luckily without the evil.

An Illume.